


the love we deserve

by txddylxpin (notquitepunkrock)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Good Peter Pettigrew, Hurt/Comfort, Indian Potter Family (Harry Potter), It IS peter pettigrew friendly, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Marauders Raise Harry Potter, Minor Character Death, Neville Longbottom is a Good Friend, Severus Snape Bashing, Susan Bones is a character now bc why not, let me reiterate: this fic is not Dumbledore or Snape friendly :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29279181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquitepunkrock/pseuds/txddylxpin
Summary: In another lifetime, James and Lily Potter had gotten to choose their secret keeper. In another lifetime, Peter Pettigrew was a Death Eater. In another lifetime, Harry Potter grew up alone, unloved, unwanted. Not here.---AU in which Snape is the Secret Keeper, Wormtail is a good man, and Harry grows up loved.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Peter Pettigrew & Harry Potter, Remus Lupin & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 49





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [boy with a scar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3454106) by [dirgewithoutmusic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirgewithoutmusic/pseuds/dirgewithoutmusic). 



> Hi!! This is a rewrite of a one shot I wrote in 2018, which I have pulled out and decided to expand into a full fic. Be warned that this fic is rather unfriendly towards Snape and very unfriendly to Dumbledore. 
> 
> I'm writing most of this fic while drunk and having Molly (my longtime beta) edit when I'm sober. I'm also using this fic to cope with a breakup so there probably won't be more than passing mentions to romance in here lol.
> 
> Fic is definitely inspired by dirgewithoutmusic's Boy With A Scar series, but I tried to make it as different as possible. That said, I do highly recommend reading their work. It makes me feel so many things.

In another lifetime, James and Lily Potter had gotten to choose their secret keeper. In another lifetime, Peter Pettigrew was a Death Eater. In another lifetime, Harry Potter grew up alone, unloved, unwanted. Not here.

* * *

Here, Albus Dumbledore chose Severus Snape to be the secret keeper.

There was an argument, loud enough that it nearly woke the baby sleeping in the next room, even around the silencing charms. 

The loudest was Lily, who remembered a boy hurling unkind words at her sister, just because she was a muggle. Lily, who remembered the word “mudblood” dropping from Severus’ mouth, too easily to have truly been a mistake. Lily, who had once loved him. Lily, who loved him still.

She was matched only by Sirius, who stared at his brother and his sister and knew, in his heart, that only he could keep them alive. Sirius, who would have died for his family. Sirius, who knew that he was the most obvious choice, the most obvious risk. Sirius, who had apologies to make. Sirius, who conceded because he thought an enemy would be safer than a friend.

Remus was quieter, more considering, but he too was against it. Remus, who had spent four years trying to repent for something he didn’t want to do. Remus, who had a wolf writhing beneath his skin. Remus, who knew firsthand about double agents, and knew that eventually they had to choose a side. 

The most surprising opponent was Peter, who remembered being cornered, frightened, by a Severus wishing for revenge. Peter, who had been called a coward by everyone who knew him and most who didn’t. Peter, who had made a decision - but let’s imagine that he made the right one, this time.

James was the only one who didn’t argue. He wanted to believe that Severus would do the right thing. He wanted to believe in the boy that his Lily had sworn was underneath the greasy little bastard who’d hissed slurs at his brothers in the school hallway. He had apologies to make, and perhaps this was the only way to make them. If Dumbledore trusted Severus, so did James.

(Dumbledore had always been too trusting.)

But Snape hated Lily’s husband and the son he wished was his. He took the oath, and then slipped into the night, carrying the secret to Lord Voldemort. Snape begged him to kill the boy and the husband, but to keep Lily safe. The Dark Lord, however, does not make promises that he intends to keep.

Lily Potter still died that night in Godric’s Hollow, but it was she who answered the door expecting her childhood friend. It was she who begged James to run, to take Harry and go, and it was James whose love kept their son alive. 

In another life, Harry Potter was left out with the milk on his aunt’s doorstep, but this Harry would never meet the Dursleys. Despite being from a chopped limb of the Black family tree, their blood had still run through Euphemia Potter’s veins. Sirius’ blood was enough to protect the baby shielded by his father’s love. 

The bundle of blankets was placed safely into the three remaining Marauders’ arms in the cold night, and they cooed over him to avoid weeping for their lost friends.

No one went after Severus, because there was a child to care for. No one ended up in Azkaban, laughing maniacally on a muggle street. The dawn broke on the first of November over a small cottage in the middle of the forest with three men curled around a sleeping baby.

(That is not a full-truth. Infuriated Order members went after Severus Snape and killed him in his home. He took the curse, stone-faced, and died a traitor. This man would not someday teach potions and torture small children until he became their biggest fears. He died with Lily’s name on his lips. Albus mourned the loss of a pawn.)

Harry Potter grew up in a house full of love.

His Uncle Sirius bought him toys and clothing, taught him to play tricks and ride a broomstick. Uncle Peter taught him kindness and gave him a place to hide when he had bad days or when Sirius was too much, and taught him to cook and clean with a smile on his face. Uncle Remus taught him to read, to patch up wounds the muggle way, and disposed of the spiders when Sirius screamed and Peter squealed.

This boy grew up with stories of his parents and of Hogwarts. There was not a moment in his life that he didn’t know his parents loved him. There was not a moment in his life that he wondered. Harry grew up with his parent’s faces smiling at him from photographs adorning walls and mantles. No one had to tell him he had his mother’s eyes - he already knew.

He traced Sirius’ tattoos as the man read him bedtime stories, small fingers running over the dark splotches of ink. When he was especially bored, made to sit through long ceremonial events at the Ministry, Sirius handed him a pack of Magic Markers (a muggle brand, whose name delighted Harry to no end) and he colored carefully until his godfather’s arms were bright with a rainbow of colors. 

Peter taught him to braid Sirius’ hair. Harry practiced the soothing pattern of over, pull, over, pull, over, pull, on the tassels of blankets and his own messy locks and bracelets made of thread. Each of his uncles had a bracelet carefully crafted by the small boy at age seven, which they wore with pride until their dying days.

Peter had always been bad at spells as a boy, but he was nearly as good as Lily had been at potions. He spent long, quiet hours each month brewing Wolfsbane in the garden shed with Harry watching seriously at his side. He had a patience and a fear that served him well over the cauldron. 

Remus hauled in a muggle record player and took Harry on trips to buy new vinyls. He taught the small boy to dance in his socks - the waltz, the foxtrot, swing, and even a little of the salsa that his mother had taught him when he was young. Harry’s favorite dance was to whirl round and round until he fell to the floor, laughing as the world spun over his head.

Magic lived in their household. It pulsed from every corner - from the wards Remus and Sirius placed over the house, to the soup pot charmed to keep their food at the perfect temperature all evening, to the enchanted stars over Harry’s bed that matched the constellations. Harry watched his uncles wave their wands and tried to mimic the actions, giggling with delight when he made a book zip across the room or tumbled off his toy broom onto a pillow that hadn’t been there before. 

Harry knew from a young age that he was a parselmouth. He had a habit of sneaking outside to talk to the garden snakes and share his snacks. As he got older, he asked snakes to scare his Uncle Sirius, and warned them to hide out of the way until Remus finished mowing the lawn. Peter, who decided to face his fears head on, would sit with Harry and carefully sound out a garbled version of Parseltongue, much to the boy’s amusement. His uncles gently reminded him to keep that particular fact hidden, which made it all the better to cause mischief.

Occasional whispers would be made between the men about the Dursleys and Mrs. Figg, who still kept an eye on them in case Death Eaters heard of Harry Potter’s muggle relatives and decided to use them as an example. But Harry would never set foot into the perfectly normal house on Privet Drive. Not in this world. 

Petunia mourned her sister quietly, took out her rage on the garden, and never spoke a word of her death to her husband. It was as if they never existed as all.

He did, however, set foot in the muggle primary school in the nearby town. After several hours of muttered conversations after Harry went to sleep, it was determined that Lily would have wanted her son to attend school, rather than be homeschooled like most wizards before Hogwarts. Each day one of them would walk Harry down the long drive that led to the cottage and wait for the bus by the road with him. Peter, who was a half-blood, would help Harry with most of his homework. Remus took over reading and spelling. Sirius helped him with maths, the only subject from the muggle world he was at all familiar with. Even purebloods had to learn to do basic arithmetic, after all. How else would they know how to spend their money?

Harry made a few friends at school, a couple of little boys who invited him to playdates where he had to pretend that magic didn’t exist and that his scar came from a terrible car crash. He watched television with them in their sitting rooms, and played on their Segas and Ataris and Nintendos, and then went home to beg for his own. 

With a little help from Arthur Weasley, Sirius got an NES to work in their little cottage. Remus in particular enjoyed playing it when Harry was at school.

As much as Harry enjoyed playing with the muggle children from his school, his favorite playmates were the other Order children. These were others who he didn’t have to hide from, who understood his magic and his uncles and knew what had really happened to his parents. They didn’t ask questions that made him uncomfortable. Their families didn’t look at him with tight smiles of pity for the little orphan boy being raised by his uncles. They had more tact than that.

There was serious-faced Susan Bones, who went to work with her aunt and took notes for her schoolwork in court shorthand. She knew what it meant to be an orphan of war. At sleepovers, when they were meant to be fast asleep, they would whisper together about how their parents had been heroes. She understood what it meant to wish your parents  _ hadn’t  _ been heroes, if only it would mean that they weren’t dead.

Awkward, tumbling Neville, whose family was convinced was a squib, but who Harry knew had a special kind of magic called friendship. He showed Harry the gum wrappers from his father, and Harry taught him to fold them into creatures like he’d learned at school. Fred and George teased him at times, but Harry would stand up and ball his little fists and glare. He cried more easily than other boys, but Harry didn’t mind. He figured that Neville had earned it, growing up with a family like his.

The rollicking Weasley bunch always made room for him in their games. Bill and Charlie ruffled his hair, teased him like he was another one of their brothers. Percy helped him with his school work, even though Molly homeschooled her children. Fred and George were always up to cause a little bit of mischief, and had a hero-worship for Harry’s uncles, much to his amusement. Ginny would kick him in the shins some days, and follow he and Ron like a puppy the next, but she was the best of all of them at imagining. Ron, Harry had decided, was his Sirius. The two were attached at the hip. 

And finally there was Tonks, whose hair flashed funny colors when you called her by her first name. She and Charlie were often off on their own - climbing trees to peer at bird’s nests, sneaking into Arthur’s shed to watch him work on his car, trying to crawl down foxholes and under houses. But when they weren’t, she was funny and exciting. Harry thought that she told the best stories of all.

For ten years (nine years, ten months, and two days, not that anyone was counting) Harry Potter grew up in a little cottage in the woods with his three uncles before he went off to Hogwarts. 

For ten years ( 5,173,920 minutes, or 310,435,200 seconds, not that anyone was counting) Harry Potter spent every day with them, curling up when all he could see was a flash of green. When he was sad, he cried. When he was happy, he laughed. When he was curious, he asked questions. He had a bed to sleep in, and a bedroom to play in, and clothes that fit him. He never had to cook the food except for when he wanted to surprise Remus for breakfast after a moon, and no one ever scolded him for burning the bacon. (Peter had declared he liked burnt bacon best, and doomed himself to eating it forever, because Remus and Sirius knew he didn’t.)

Most importantly, Harry Potter grew up knowing he was  _ loved. _


	2. the philosopher's stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i,,, am really proud of this so far tbh

There was no half-giant knocking down his door. That’s the first difference. Minerva McGonagall showed up for tea one sunny day in mid-June, handing the letter over to Harry personally. She beat the owl that would have carried the letter by approximately half an hour. 

(The owl was rather offended by this.)

Harry took the thick parchment with his name carefully etched in green ink. He cheered and bounced around the kitchen with excitement until Sirius caught him around the middle, holding the wriggling boy in the air. 

“Outside now, pup, before you slip on the tile in your socks,” he’d laughed, swinging Harry to the ground near the doorway.

McGonagall smiled after the little boy, who hurriedly stepped into his shoes and raced into the backyard. For a moment - for just a second, really - she could imagine it was James running out the door of the Potter’s manorhouse all those years ago. 

She reflected on this as she drank tea. It was only small things, really, that made him look so much like his father. Harry was a good deal slighter than James had been at that age, and shorter too. His dark hair was a few inches longer - nearly brushing his shoulders. Remus had a nightmare of a time trying to get Harry to sit still during haircuts and had eventually given up entirely. His skin was a shade or two lighter, and his glasses round on his straight nose. 

At a glance, they could have been twins, yes. But if you looked closer, there was more of Lily in the boy than just her eyes.

His mother was there in his strong jaw, in his dimpled smile. She was there in the way he mouthed the words as he read books, in the way his eyes sparked with passion, in the easy banter he shared with his guardians. She was there in the way he noticed everything. She was there in his long limbs and his small shoulders, in his over-large feet. 

Lily Evans was as much a part of Harry as James, if not more. You just had to know where to look.

On the subsequent trip to Diagon Alley, Harry held tightly to Peter’s hand and waved to Mr. Fortescue at the ice cream parlor. When he looked around Diagon, it was not without wonder; though the shops were familiar, the magic an everyday occurrence, there was always something interesting happening somewhere down the street.

He shifted uncomfortably as they walked into Gringotts, his dark hair falling over the jagged, branching lightning scar across his forehead. The marble building felt too much like the principal’s office at school - stiff, strict, and built to intimidate. The goblins recognized him when Sirius handed over the key to the Potter vault. He clung to Remus during the brisk ride into the depths of the bank, holding open his pouch so his uncle could carefully count out the coins. When they returned to Peter and Sirius in the lobby, the pouch jingled in his hands as he ran to them, telling them breathless tales of the spins and turns into the depths of the Earth. Every Gringotts trip had the same result, though the path to the vault rarely varied.

Harry pressed his little nose against the glass of Quality Quidditch Supplies along with the other boys, oohing and aahing at the new Nimbus enviously. Sirius pressed beside him, pointing out the new features with excitement. (“New cushioning spell, sharper turns, the fastest racing broom yet!”) Both moaned with disappointment when Remus dragged them away. 

Peter’s shaking head and soft reminder that “You’re a first year, Harry, you’re not allowed a broom,” was not a good enough excuse in the boy’s eyes. Sirius looked inclined to agree.

Harry cheered considerably upon entering Flourish and Blotts, however. Sirius had groaned as they approached the door and veered off to the apothecary to buy Harry’s potions supplies. Peter trailed after him to stop him from buying ridiculous things, like a solid gold cauldron or a vial of dragon’s teeth. Remus placed a hand on Harry’s back, and ushered him inside amongst the towering stacks of books.

Harry liked reading in any lifetime, but in this one he’d been raised by Remus Lupin. Books were more than books. They were worlds unto themselves.

“Right,” Remus said, watching the way Harry’s green eyes widened in excitement when he caught sight of the newest Everest Starling novel (“Adventure stories for the young wizard!”). “School books first. Then we’ll have some fun.” His eyes twinkled at this statement, mouth quirking up in the corner in a way that Harry knew meant something good was coming.

When they finally managed to drag themselves out of the shop to meet up with Peter and Sirius, it was with a shrunken stack of books that was taller than Harry’s head in Remus’ pocket. 

This Harry still met Malfoy in Madame Malkin’s - some things are simply unavoidable. But when he did, Peter (Part Mudblood) and Remus (Half-Breed) were hovering nearby, and Sirius (Blood-Traitor) had left them at the door. The small blond boy didn’t say anything under the watchful eyes of Harry’s uncles, instead turning up his nose and exchanging glares. There would be no offer of friendship in this world, not when he knew so clearly where Harry’s loyalties would always lie.

As Narcissa and her son left the store, they brushed by Sirius carrying a snowy owl, who bristled at the sight of his cousin. When Harry asked why, he shook his head. “Some wizarding families are better than others, pup. I’m not convinced that the Malfoys know much of anything about love.”

(That was where Sirius was wrong - the Malfoys, if nothing else, loved each other with a ferocity deeper than any oath. That love would save Harry someday; that love would save their skins someday. But that’s in the future, so let’s not dwell on it.)

Dinner was had at the Leaky Cauldron, with the Weasleys. Molly seemed harried, with Charlie and Bill now out of the country and unable to help keep things under control. She tried to wrangle five growing children who were intent on bickering and causing a ruckus everywhere they went. 

This is where the Marauders came in. Sirius distracted the twins with muggle card tricks, which he’d learned to amuse Regulus and anger his parents once upon a time. Remus offered Percy advice on being prefect. Harry unknowingly helped by starting up an excited discussion with Ron and Ginny about his new books.

“Oh, thank goodness  _ someone  _ can distract them,” said Molly, looking far more tired than she ever had when the children were small.

“It’s the least we can do, after everything,” Peter said, and he meant it.

(Arthur and Molly had been helping hands, in those early days, when three young men barely out of school and a war had to learn how to be parents. Charlie had helped with potty training at some point, and inspired a passion for creatures weaker than himself. Percy had carefully taught him to spell in the sand behind the Burrow. Bill had taught him to fly in loop-de-loops that scared their parents, but he also taught him to be gentle and kind. Harry carried these lessons with him for the rest of his life.)

Through the month of August, Harry exchanged letters with the Weasleys, who told stories from Hogwarts to prepare him. Susan wrote often, letters written in secret code that Harry worked to decode in the light of his nightlight. Neville, who was worried that perhaps he wasn’t magical enough to go to Hogwarts, sent letters half-blurry with worried tears. 

He played quidditch with Sirius, who only sometimes wished that James could see his boy swooping over the field behind their cottage. His evenings were spent curled at Remus’ side in front of the fire, listening to his uncle read aloud from Beedle the Bard and Tolkien alike as his eyes drooped closed. At night, Peter would tuck him in and say a made-up spell against monsters under the bed that Harry pretended he wasn’t too old for.

The night before he left for Hogwarts, Harry slipped into Remus’ bedroom, where the large bed was, and climbed up beside his uncle. Peter followed him down the hallway - always a light sleeper, he’d always woken up at the sound of Harry’s feet softly hitting the floor - and slid in on the other side of Harry. Sirius, as Padfoot, curled up with them, his head resting on Harry’s small foot.

It felt a bit like an ending.

It felt a bit like a beginning.

When Harry got on the train to Hogwarts, he had parents to look back at, waving from the platform. He chose a compartment near the back (the Marauder’s compartment, not that he would have known) and laughed at them as they shouted up to him. Sirius chased the train down the platform, laughing a bright, wild laugh. He would have been so much faster in his animagus form, except that he wanted Harry’s last sight of home to be his face. 

The train ride was filled with an air of nervous excitement. Ron stumbled into the compartment after being shaken off by his brothers. He looked frightened when collapsed across from Harry, all gangly limbs and freckles and big blue eyes.

“Mum made me corned beef, again,” he sighed, and Harry knew to wrinkle his nose and offer to eat it for him. He still bought a pile of candy to share. (Dumbledore’s face smiled up from his chocolate frog card. Harry’s stomach flipped, and he didn’t know why. He would leave the card on the seat of the train.)

Malfoy and his friends stopped by with sneers and smirks that would have made Harry ball up his fists in any lifetime. There was no rat to scare them off, here. Just a very angry boy who wouldn’t stand down - his uncles had taught him better than that. They had been bullies once, and had taught him better. Harry knew what a bully looked like, and knew that they often backed off if confronted. Most alarming to Malfoy’s gang was that Harry wasn’t afraid to risk detention before even arriving at the school. 

He rather thought that his uncles would be proud if he did.

Malfoy, however, was scared of repercussions. He and his lackeys hurried away, off to find Pansy and Blaise and form their little gang. Here was a boy who knew loyalty just as well as Harry, and he would cling to it just as tightly. (But this isn’t a story about Draco Malfoy, now is it?)

When Neville and Hermione wandered in looking for Neville’s toad, Harry greeted him with a smile. He suggested looking in the pile of Neville’s school clothes on top of his chest. Trevor was curled inside of one of the boy’s school shoes.

Hermione, a bit intimidated by the two boys who seemed to know her new friend so well, hurried off to find a compartment where she might be a little less of a sore thumb. Unfortunate though it is, it would still take a mountain troll to bridge that particular gap. She ended up sitting with Susan and Hannah Abbott, who promised to form a study group with her once term started. For just a moment under the Sorting Hat, Hermione wished to join them in Hufflepuff.

Harry’s first year went much the same as in that other life, except this time he had someone to write home to.

The first letter announced his sorting, hurriedly scribbled out on a torn bit of parchment before rushing off to play with his roommates. He mentioned Neville and Ron, as well, which earned a small sigh of relief. 

“Good that he’s a Gryffindor, just like us!” Sirius said, eyes shining with tears that he would never admit. He could picture the red tie and robes, if he closed his eyes tightly enough. It took him a moment too long to realize he was picturing James.

Peter nodded seriously. “Good thing Neville’s there too - he’ll have Ron and Harry to look out for him,” he agreed, remembering his own first night at the castle. He’d been so much like Neville, small and nervous and stuttering. Peter had been lucky to come out with three brothers. He hoped that Neville found the same.

When the next letter came, it was on thick parchment held closed by the Hogwarts seal. Remus groaned at the sight, turning to glare accusingly at Sirius. “If he’s in trouble already, it’s all your doing,” he complained. Despite that, he was suppressing a smile. Sirius was too busy cackling to open the letter, so Peter snagged it from the table and read quickly.

“He got onto the quidditch team!” he announced, holding it out towards the other men. “As a bloody first year!” He and Sirius both cheered. 

Before Remus could blink, Sirius was hurrying to find his own piece of parchment to write off to Quality Quidditch Supplies. “Can’t complain now, Moony! He’s going to need a far better broom. That old Comet of his will never hold up during an actual match, not if it’s anything like ours were.” He and Peter trailed out of the room, still holding the letter and yelling about brooms.

“I need context,” Remus said to himself, rubbing at his temples tiredly. 

McGonagall provided the needed information at tea that weekend, smiling at the men over her teacup as she recounted Harry’s save of the Remembrall. “A fine seeker,” she said with the same confidence she’d had when telling James and Lily that they would be excellent parents. She tried not to have too much pride when she did.

The letter about the troll followed an official notice from McGonagall that made Peter feel faint. Where McGonagall was clipped and formal in her letter (“To the guardians of Mr. H. Potter, Harry was involved in an incident…”) Harry’s was written with all the excitement and awe of an eleven-year-old who had just had a very big adventure. He wrote in great detail about he and Ron rushing to save Hermione, about getting his wand covered in bogies, about Ron knocking the troll unconscious. He enthused about his new friend and how she was at the top of their class already. (“I heard Flitwick call her the brightest witch of our age, just like Mum!”) It was every bit as fawning as they’d come to expect when the boy talked about his friends.

A line at the end mentioned lost house points in a script almost too small to read. Peter had laughed so hard he’d nearly cried when he noticed.

Harry didn’t have to write home about his first quidditch match. All three men were in the stands, fifteen year old Gryffindor ties around their heads and old banners unfurled. Peter’s cheeks were painted with a poorly drawn red and gold lion. Remus wore Sirius’ quidditch sweater, the sleeves too short for his long arms. Sirius waved James’ old jersey like a flag and presented it to Harry when his team won the match. 

(They watched with bated breath, too quiet for a quidditch game, as Harry’s broom went haywire. Lucius Malfoy was in the stands behind Quirinus Quirrell, staring intently at Harry. Hermione lit his robes on fire and broke Quirrell’s concentration. They didn’t tell Harry’s uncles about it until long after the war was over.)

Christmas was held in the small cottage that year, just as any other. Harry got a boxed set of Narnia books from Remus, a broom care kit from Sirius, and a GameBoy from Peter. He sent presents to each of the Weasleys, packs of muggle sweets to Neville and Tonks, some of Remus’ old books to Hermione, and a muggle guide to ciphers to Susan Bones. The invisibility cloak was left folded on Harry’s pillow when he got back to Hogwarts. 

The letter about Hagrid’s dragon came at the same time as another disciplinary notice from McGonagall. Remus sighed and resigned himself to seven years of this, much as he was certain Euphemia and Fleamont Potter had all those years ago. 

The following letter from Harry, detailing a detention into the Forbidden Forest had brought all three men into Dumbledore’s office, yelling about danger. Peter had hovered at the back as Sirius and Remus took charge. When the ancient headmaster finally turned towards him, Peter’s face was ash gray and he looked about to explode. 

“Do something like this again,” he said quietly, very calmly. Peter was the last of the Marauders to anger, and always had been. Even Remus was cowed under his gaze. “And I make no promises that you will ever see the sun again.”

(This Peter had made the right decision, but Peter Pettigrew had always had hidden depths. In another time, Peter would blow up a street and kill twelve muggles to frame his friend for murder. This Peter had that same power in his veins, but had never deigned to use it.)

Less than a month later found Harry facing Voldemort for the second time in his life. Neville was left in a full-body bind on the floor of the tower; Susan would send Harry a Howler every day for a week when she found out about that particular detail. Ron went down during a chess game. Hermione was left behind at the potions riddle. The philosopher’s stone landed in Harry’s pocket. Quirrell reached out to grab Harry, and his father’s love surged forward and burned the man alive.

When Harry woke up in the Hospital Wing, it was to the harried faces of his uncles bent over his bed. Sirius was pacing angrily by the pile of sweets, mumbling to himself as he clenched his fists over and over. Remus’ hands hovered over Harry’s body like he wasn’t sure what hurt and what didn’t, worry clouding his normally calm eyes. Peter seemed on the verge of tears, as he was so very often. 

(Dumbledore would face a Ministry Inquiry that he escaped by the skin of his teeth.)

In another lifetime, Harry Potter would have been left alone with the knowledge that Voldemort wasn’t dead and returned to the muggle world in exile. Instead, his uncles hugged him close and promised it would be okay. Sirius finally settled enough to pick through the pile of gifts by Harry’s bed, laughing at the twins’ failed attempt to send him a toilet seat. He stole a handful of Bertie Botts and was rewarded with a bean that he swore tasted like sewage. Harry and his uncles laughed as Sirius spluttered indignantly. That night he returned to the common room and into the arms of his friends. 

(Little did he know that Sirius spent half an hour screaming at Dumbledore about danger and about Voldemort and about betrayals before the Marauders went home to that small cottage in the woods. Peter had wrung his hands and sent horrified glances towards McGonagall as the woman nodded along. Remus was disturbingly silent, but left a bright red Howler on the man’s desk when they left.)

As Harry climbed onto the Hogwarts Express at term’s end that year, he looked forward to going home. He was looking forward to playing video games and washing the dishes and singing along to the radio. He couldn’t wait to hear Remus’ voice as he read out loud, Sirius’ laugh at a particularly good joke, Peter’s hum as he brewed potions. 

Harry Potter left Hogwarts, and returned  _ home. _


	3. the chamber of secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just so yall know, im refraining from posting chapters until the next one is written, and poa gave me a very hard time. thus, this was delayed. 
> 
> anyway enjoy whatever this is

They knew it wouldn’t be safe in their little cottage in the woods for much longer, not with Voldemort back. They carefully packed up their belongings - eleven years worth of their life with Harry - and found a house in a muggle town. It wasn’t overly large, and their floo was only for emergencies, and bats had made their home in the attack. But it was somewhere no one would think of searching for their boy, and that was all that mattered to the three men.

(Three years later, the original cottage was ransacked by Death Eaters after Voldemort’s return, but no one thought to look for Harry amongst the muggles in a town where he had no connections at all. If he didn’t attend Hogwarts, no one know that he existed at all.)

In this new town, Remus got a job at the library, with little old ladies who looked knowingly over their glasses when he called in sick once a month but asked no questions, under the name Roman Johnson. Sirius worked at the animal shelter, and his coworkers were delighted with “Cyrus White” and his mysterious way with dogs. 

Peter stayed home most days, but he took walks in the neighborhood and became good friends with all of the mothers in the area. He smiled when they spoke enviously of his nephew’s place at a particularly fancy boarding school when they thought he was out of earshot, and they loved his homemade lemon bars. He just went by Peter, and simply smiled and changed the subject if asked for more than that.

If anyone there thought it odd that three men were raising a boy not related to any of them on the outskirts of town, they were far too polite to say anything to their faces. Of course everyone had their theories, which Sirius and Peter had far too much fun eavesdropping on while in their animagus forms.

Remus’ favorite was that the old ladies at the libraries thought he was transgender and living with his gay lovers. Peter liked the theory that they were in a witness protection program. (“It  _ is _ half true, isn’t it?”) Harry quite enjoyed the idea that Peter was running a crime syndicate in which Remus was the muscle - thus the scars - and Sirius the brains. Sirius didn’t have a favorite theory, because he simply couldn’t decide.

That summer brought hours spent decorating their new home, which had an extra bedroom so Sirius and Peter no longer had to share. A large wood backed up to the house that the Marauders ran through during full moons. Portraits of James and Lily took pride of place above the mantle. James’ parents watched on from the foyer, just as they had in Godric’s Hollow nearly twelve years before. The other Order members waved from their frames lining the hallway. A pair of tiny pictures of young Petunia and Lily in a shared frame occupied the table by the couch.

Partway into the summer, Harry went to stay at the Burrow. It was no grand adventure by way of flying car, which surely would have disappointed him if he had known it was an option. Instead he had to suffer through Side-Along Apparition, tucked into Sirius’ side with his eyes squeezed shut. This version of Harry had never had bars on his windows, and no house-elf appeared in his backyard because he was rarely alone long enough for Dobby to speak to him.

He flew through the Weasleys’ apple orchard and did his summer homework with Ron. He wrote letters to each of his friends and sent them off with Hedwig, taking care to reply back as soon as he could. 

He got his Hogwarts letter at the Burrow that year, and if the owl delivering it was a little smug, no one except for Hedwig and Errol would have noticed. The next day, they met up with his uncles again in Diagon Alley.

After, of course, a disastrous landing in Knockturn Alley and being found by Hagrid. Sirius had been near ready to skin Harry alive for that one, mistake or not. Peter had to talk him down.

“Remember when you wanted to get to Prongs’ house and ended up at a silverware shop in Godric’s Hollow?” he asked with a raised eyebrow and a grin on his round face. Sirius flinched, looking properly embarrassed. “Forgot that it was called Lionsdon Manor, and called out ‘Prongsie’s place,’ if I remember correctly.”

That set Harry and Ron laughing until their stomachs hurt and Hagrid had to pat them on their backs with his large hands to force air into their lungs. Sirius scowled and pretended like the memory didn’t hurt just a little around the edges.

Diagon was where Harry’s uncles finally met Hermione, whose parents had brought her and Susan to go school shopping.

“My aunt had a hearing she couldn’t miss,” Susan explained, smiling. Harry could see the hurt underneath. Amelia Bones had a habit of throwing herself into work to forget about the death of her brother, which often made things harder for her niece. Susan had long since learned the art of grinning and bearing it. Harry thought it unfair that she’d had to.

Hermione spent most of her time between the steps of Gringotts and the door of the book shop pestering Peter about potions and Remus about history. The interrogation only ended when she (frustratingly unlike herself though it was) got distracted by Gilderoy Lockhart’s blinding smile at the back of the store. As she, Susan, and Ginny waited with Mrs. Weasley in line, the others set to work seeking out their books - Harry slipped a few novels into the pile when his uncles weren’t looking. In the crowd he just barely managed to get lost between Remus and Peter, and Lockhart never caught sight of him.

And then Sirius assisted Arthur in attempting to fight Lucius Malfoy in the middle of the store. It felt like both seconds and hours before Hagrid pulled them apart, before Remus was able to disarm Sirius and tend to his bleeding nose, before Peter was able to grab the twins by the back of their shirts and stop them from joining in. Molly very nearly dragged them all outside by their ears. No one saw the house-elf sneaking away from it all. No one noticed the stray book in Ginny’s cauldron. 

Harry’s birthday was held at the Longbottom’s home, where Augusta was determined to have a rather dignified tea to celebrate both Harry and Neville. Her guest list consisted exclusively of relatives and acquaintances of the Moste Ancient Houses of Longbottom and Potter. Both boys had suffered through Pureblood etiquette lessons and Ministry functions at Augusta Longbottom’s side for their whole childhood, and were dreading it entirely. 

(Sirius had hated the thought of etiquette lessons, remembering backhands delivered if one misremembered someone’s family connections and long hours with a tutor that was allowed to curse them if they made too many mistakes. Peter had gently reminded him that it was highly unlikely that Augusta was going to hurt the children.)

As a gesture of goodwill, she had allowed Harry and Neville to add their friends to the guest list, which turned her stuffy high society tea into an impromptu quidditch match. Teenagers ran amok on the lawn, kicking off their shoes and running through mud left by a morning rain. 

Fred and George planted dungbombs under especially rude party guests. Tonks nearly toppled off of her broom three times before Ginny decided to distract her by asking about Auror training. Susan and Hermione seemed quite content to discuss their grades in a corner, which eventually became an in-depth discussion on Ministry politics with Percy. 

Harry found Neville sitting underneath a tree in the garden and watching the chaos. A large slice of cake sat half-eaten in front of him, red and gold icing still sparkling in the sunshine. He tossed his borrowed broom to the ground and dropped down beside Neville to take it all in.

“It’s nice, having friends,” Neville commented, watching with barely concealed amusement as some Ministry Department Head or another complained loudly about the chaos. Harry glanced at him in surprise.

“You’ve always had friends, Nev,” he’d said, just a little offended. The sun bled through the leaves, warming their skin. Harry shoved his sweaty bangs back, exposing his scarred forehead, and Neville looked away.

“A family, then,” Neville amended. He stared down at his knees, his chubby fingers with dirt beneath the nails, his father’s old wand in his lap.

Harry thought that maybe he understood.

Once again, the night before Harry left for school found him curled up on the big bed with his uncles. Sirius tucked him in tightly and patted his hair down in a motion that was achingly similar to Euphemia Potter putting her boys to bed. He fell asleep to whispered tales of his parents’ teenage hijinks. 

At the platform the next day, when the wall didn’t let them through, Remus was with Ron and Harry on the wrong side of the bricks. The three of them watched in shock as the clock ticked past eleven o’ clock. He gathered both children into his arms and whisked them back to the Marauder’s home as soon as he got them into a hidden spot in King’s Cross. He made them tea to quell their anxiety and sent them to the living room while he Flooed McGonagall with his own barely suppressed panic.

“The wall didn’t let them through,” he said, voice shaking under the anxiety. “Has that  _ ever _ happened before?”

McGonagall frowned, the worry lines on her forehead far more prominent than they had been when Remus was in school. “Never. Bring them here.”

Once the boys were safely deposited in the warmth of the common room, Remus and Arthur had an urgent conference with Dumbledore and the Heads of House about security. They told Harry and Ron that it was simply a routine malfunction of a very old spell. 

The boys shrugged it off. There was no reason to worry, after all, if Remus and Arthur and McGonagall said everything was fine. (They were years away from recognizing the tired fear in adults’ eyes when they looked at them. They were so young. They always would be.)

Ron, especially, was thrilled to arrive at school with several hours to kill before the others arrived. He dragged Harry to the dorm to unpack, leaving their things scattered across the dorm floor as they dug for their robes. They snuck into the fourth year boys dorm and enchanted the curtains to become immovable when drawn closed, a special surprise for the twins and Lee.

Both boys were perfectly happy to spend their wait in front of a warm fire until McGonagall fetched them for the feast, playing Exploding Snap and commenting on recent quidditch matches. 

Neither stopped to wonder why they had never heard of the wall not working before. Harry wrote home that night with excited descriptions of their time alone in the tower, pride palpable when he wrote of Ginny’s sorting into Gryffindor. 

He’d sounded more pained when he wrote of Neville and Hermione, who’d sat with the Hufflepuffs on the train and fretted over their missing friends. Hermione had cited Stranger Danger statistics she’d gotten off of a childhood of Public Safety films in an increasingly higher pitched voice until Hannah Abbott had nearly bitten her nails down the quick from worry. Susan had proposed writing a coded message to Harry if they weren’t at the feast, armed with a cipher they’d created over Owl that summer. 

Eventually, Hermione had squared her shoulders and gone car to car to look for them. When she returned, it was with her mouth drawn into a tight line. Most of the older kids thought that she was overreacting, but whispered panic spread amongst their year.

There was a palpable relief from their yearmates when Harry and Ron tumbled down the stairs to meet the rest of the student body.

With his first letter about Lockhart’s horrendous Defense lessons came a flurry of angry letters to Dumbledore. Remus wrote most of them, outraged missives about the quality of education going downhill. They roped as many parents as they could into it - Amelia Bones, Arthur Weasley (Molly was still blinded by Lockhart’s overwhite teeth), Augusta Longbottom, Caoimhe Finnegan, the Abbotts, and even Siena Zabini - filling the Headmaster’s office with envelopes. He sent back insufferably cheerful letters vouching for the man’s credentials. Remus huffed and decided to start researching.

“They got a better education from a man with Voldemort growing out of the back of his head,” he huffed, sorting through stacks of the Marauders’ old textbooks.

Sirius hummed, tilting his head. “Didn’t Harry say it smelled like garlic?” he said thoughtfully. “Does anyone remember what old Moldyshorts smelled like?”

Peter wrinkled his nose. “I tried not to get close enough to find out.”

By the end of the second week of school, Remus had done enough digging to write a replacement lesson plan for the entire term. He sent Harry and his friends dozens of letters filled with spells to practice, books to read in place of Lockhart’s anthology, theory to study. Hermione shook herself from her hero-worship of the man by the end of their second horrendous lesson, and turned to her small study group to help find an unused classroom to practice in.

(“Cornish Pixies! And that ridiculous made up spell. It’s shameful, is what it is.”)

Harry led the study sessions as much as he could, reading through Remus’ letters ahead of time. Hermione poured over the books and, with Susan’s assistance, carefully sifted through the theory until she could explain it in basic terms. Ron groaned about doing extra work, but conceded under Hermione’s sharp gaze. Without the required essays and readings to struggle through as the letters danced out of their places, however, he was surprised to find himself a quick learner. 

“I wonder,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “Do wizards test for dyslexia?” 

Ron stared at her. “Dys-what? Is that a type of muggle alcohol or something?” 

“It’s a learning thing,” Harry said. “Makes reading hard. Uncle Pete has it. They found out when he was a kid in muggle school, but I don’t think that it’s a known thing in the wizarding world.”

Hermione tilted her head and hummed in interest, then wandered off to send a letter to her parents.

After a month of their makeshift DADA lessons, most of their yearmates were crowding into the small room. Neville stumbled upon a bigger classroom that appeared to have once been an art classroom, and they began holding study sessions in there. By the end of the second month, Harry was requesting replacement lessons for first through fourth year. 

A week later, Percy Weasley followed his younger siblings out of Gryffindor tower. Ron braced himself for a coming lecture, but instead his brother just watched from near the door and left quietly. Remus got a letter from him that night requesting suggestions for a fifth through seventh year study group, and smiled.

(In three years, this study group would become Dumbledore’s Army. In three years, this would become less about getting good grades, and more about readying themselves for war.)

Harry sent home letters about how hard Neville tried in his classes, about how he seemed to struggle with anything that wasn’t Herbology, how much trouble he had fitting in and Peter wondered. He remembered the time a healer had brought up autism to Augusta and she had scoffed, insisted that her grandson couldn’t be “one of those.” That was the last anyone had heard of it. His heart ached with how much Neville missed out on without Frank and Alice to love him. When Harry sent a letter to Peter about how Neville had quietly wished he got letters from home like him, Peter started to write to Neville once a week. He sent him tips for the classes that he struggled in, remembering a time when he, too, struggled with school. Neville’s potions grade steadily rose.

When they received letters about the Chamber of Secrets, about paralyzed students, about the hissing in the walls and the claims that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin (capitals included) Sirius huffed and raved and yelled loud enough to rattle the windows. 

“As if Effie or Monty was related to Slytherin,” he fumed, pacing up and down the hallway while Peter and Remus wrote back to their ward. “The Potter family is from bloody  _ India. _ Slytherin was whiter than the foot I’m going to stick up old Dumbles’ arse if he doesn’t do something about this bullying.”

He grumbled under his breath about how everyone knew that Euphemia claimed lineage from Godric Gryffindor all through dinner. When he’d had enough of Sirius’ ranting, Remus sat down and wrote a slightly passive aggressive letter to McGonagall about bullying and offering support to students. Peter sent chocolate frogs to make the days seem less cold when even a scolding from McGonagall didn’t stop the worst of it.

In another lifetime, Harry was left to fight this battle on his own, his struggle ignored by even those who were supposed to care, and his best friend was left to get paralyzed after finding out about the basilisk.

Here, Remus paused in his research to look up the Chamber, his heart going cold at what he found. He scribbled out a frantic warning to Harry about danger and begged Harry to return home. 

(Much to the boy’s annoyance.) 

Harry ignored the begging but passed the warning, laden with hints about the Basilisk on to Hermione. Then he plopped himself down beside Ginny, who had spent the months retreating into herself as more and more students were paralyzed. She had stiffened as he sat down, a curtain of red hair swinging over shoulder to block him from view.

“I’m not the one doing it, you know,” he said gently. “But i t’s okay to be afraid.”

Ginny bit her lip, squeezed her eyes tight against the tears and whispered, “I think this might be my fault.” She wouldn’t explain further, but Harry kept a close eye on her after that. She shrank more and more into herself, and his constant worried visits to McGonagall seemed to do nothing to fix it. 

Tom stole Ginny earlier in the term as suspicions grew, and Harry thought about how his uncles had always told him to be brave. He sent an apology home with Hedwig, and descended into the bowels of the castle with Ron.

Hermione stayed behind to inform Percy and the twins, to kick up a fuss about the words on the wall, to waylay Sirius when he stormed into the castle and demanded to find his godson. She forced herself not to panic though all she wanted to do was burst into tears. Instead she gathered Neville and Susan and Hannah to wait in Myrtle’s bathroom in case they needed help. They were joined by a tiny Ravenclaw girl wearing striped socks beneath her robe. 

“Ginny’s my best friend,” she informed them in a high, sweet voice. “I’m quite worried about her. The wrackspurts have been swarming her all school year. I’m Luna, by the way.” 

Hermione and Susan both had their faces twisted up like they’d eaten something sour, clearly freaked out by this strange little girl with blonde hair to her elbows and skin as white as the tile wall. Neville looked baffled. Hannah smiled gently at her and beckoned her closer, tucked a rogue strand of that long hair behind the girls’ ear. 

“Hello, Luna,” she said softly. In three years this kindness would make her a Prefect, but for now she was just a little girl who wanted to make sure an even littler girl was okay. “Would you like to join us?”

It was Ron who stabbed the basilisk through the mouth and nearly died in the Chamber. It was Harry and Ginny, together, who destroyed the horcrux with a basilisk fang. Fawkes brought them all up the stone slide, where three exhausted Gryffindors collapsed on the cobblestone floor of the bathroom.

That was where Flitwick found them, surrounded by four young students keeping protective watch with their wands in their fists. 

“Why didn’t you ask for  _ help? _ ” he asked as he levitated the sleeping students.

“We did,” Hannah said quietly, looking at the floor so the professor wouldn’t think her impertinent. “No one listened.”

“Lockhart listened,” Neville pointed out. “Only, he said the Chamber was underneath the Lake. I think the basilisk would have paralyzed half the school before he figured out he was wrong.”

Hermione sniffed in annoyance, rolling her dark eyes and pointedly not saying anything. Susan shook her head. “Auntie Amelia is fairly certain that man is a liar, anyway. She just hasn’t proved it yet,” she said. She had taken to calling Lockhart “that man” early in the school year, declaring he wasn’t deserving of the title “Professor.” Flitwick ducked his head so the students wouldn’t see him smile.

The whole thing was over long before Easter. It took a few weeks more for the mandrakes to mature enough to revive those who were paralyzed, but the school remained open. Exams still occurred on their scheduled dates. Despite their Defense lessons having nothing to do with the final exam, most of the students passed with flying colors. 

(“I say, Professor Lockhart has proven to be an effective teacher,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully. “Perhaps I’ll hire him on for another year.”

McGonagall’s jaw dropped, and she cleared her throat. “You do that, and I daresay that you’ll lose half your staff,” she said. A fire burned in her eyes, reminding Dumbledore of the fierce soldier she’d been during the war. It was not an empty threat.

He hummed. “Or perhaps Remus Lupin would like a position.”)

**Author's Note:**

> fic title based on the quote "We accept the love we think we deserve" from perks of being a wallflower. because this is a fic about Harry (and everyone else) getting the love they deserve. 
> 
> comments and kudos keep me going.  
> my tumblr is overthemoonyforpadfoot  
> my hp next gen social media au tumblr is txddy-lxpin


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